Eyes Upstairs, Eyes Downstairs
by latenightrain
Summary: Logan's fortress is invaded. Is the culprit after Eyes Only? . Logan and Max adventure, M/L. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's the very belated first installment of Mari's Xmas Exchange. She requested. **

**1) A dingy side alley**

2) Mrs. Moreno

3) Mushrooms

4) Logan's quarterly check from Cale Industries

**I'm bound and determined to include them all eventually. The whole Mrs. Moreno's scene was always a bit much for me, so why not have a little fun with it? I'll be happy to take suggestions if you have an idea of where you want this to go. I've got ideas, but I'm willing to entertain other possibilities! Enjoy and review!**

_Fogle Towers, Seattle, WA_

It had been three days since Mrs. Moreno had collapsed in her bathroom and the dripping water had brought Logan to her apartment. When the paramedics took her to Metro Medical, it had looked as though she had suffered only a slight bump on the head. She should have been discharged after a few hours of observation. Out of curiosity and a little concern, Logan had gone past her door yesterday and, seeing the junk mail piled in front of it, figured that they still hadn't released her.

There were dozens of messages in his Eyes Only inbox, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to look at them. It had only been a week since Dr. Vertes had been killed, bringing to an end his hope for walking again. In truth, once the sensation and strength had started ebbing from his legs, he had not held out much hope that the injections and therapy would bring them back. Yet he hadn't been able to stop himself from seeking out the doctor…if you could really call her that. Deep down, he had known that Max wouldn't understand how he could have put himself in the hands of that vile woman, but he couldn't help himself. The feeling of sand between his toes, the cold water freezing his feet, putting one foot in front of the other - it had been intoxicating and he had wanted so desperately to hold onto it.

So, this morning, Logan had held a finger poised over his keyboard, the cursor over his email inbox. Instead, he had opened a new window and typed in "Metro Medical Inpatient Roster Moreno". An hour later, he had figured out why Mrs. Moreno hadn't been back to her apartment. Apparently, she didn't have any family living nearby and the medical staff said she didn't have transportation to get home. Although she had seemed confused when she first arrived, later notes showed that she seemed utterly lucid and was eagerly asking to go home. Still, the social worker had refused to approve her for discharge. Since when did hospitals worry about how a patient was going to get home? Since the Pulse, hospitals had barely enough resources to patch people up, let alone worry about their social situations.

Logan looked up the number and dialed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Who did you say you were again?" The social worker had said when she finally came on the line.

Logan flicked on the speaker of his headset. "Daniel Moreno. I'm Ana Moreno's nephew. My aunt passed her competency test, so I'd like to pick her up tonight or tomorrow and bring her home. I've arranged for home nursing for her first few days home. I think that was the last piece you were probably waiting for."

"Yes, I know. Everything's clear. Your aunt's doctor was a bit surprised that you had called. Apparently, she had understood that your aunt's relatives didn't live in Seattle and that she wouldn't be moving back to her place at all. I think the doctor said that one of your other uncles arranged for her to move to a supervised residential facility. Apparently, he didn't live in Seattle, but he was worried about her living alone, but, since you've arranged everything, I don't see why she can't be on her way home soon," the social worker had said.

"I'm glad to hear that. Especially since Christmas is the day after tomorrow. She'll be glad to be back in her own place. Good-bye Mr. Moreno."

* * *

The front door slammed.

Max called out to him as she shifted a bag of groceries from one hip to the other, "Don't you think that's weird that Mrs. Moreno never told you she had a relative trying to find a place for her in a nursing home?"

"You know I find it creepy when you listen in on every word of a phone conversation right through the door…both sides of the phone conversation," Logan replied, looking up to see Max's face peeking at him over bag of food.

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself. Like I said, don't you think it's weird?"

Logan swiveled in a neat circle and followed Max to the kitchen.

"Yeah, she's never mentioned anyone in the area, for sure. In fact, I think one of the reasons she's been a little down is that her only son lives in D.C. and he hasn't visited her for a long time. If she had a brother who knew her well enough to arrange for her to move out of the apartment, you'd think she would have mentioned him before."

Since Logan and Mrs. Moreno shared the last elevator stop, it was inevitable that they would run into each other at least once a week. When he had first moved in, he had rarely talked to his neighbor. Once Eyes Only came along, he tried to keep an even lower profile. If wasn't until after the shooting that he had gotten to know her better. She had looked in on him a few times when he had come home from the hospital. The batches of homemade cookies which she had shyly left at the door had won over  
Bling too and they chatted regularly after that.

Logan had bought the apartment years ago. Before Eyes Only. Even before his stint at the Pacific Free Press. A friend of the family said he had a gorgeous penthouse that he was going to sell for a song. If it hadn't been for the rock-bottom price, Logan probably wouldn't have given the place a second look. He tried to have as little to do as possible with Jonas and his friends, but the opportunity to own his own place, on his own salary, without depending on his quarterly check from Cale Industries, was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

It was the younger son of Jack Westing, Jonas's friend, who had sold him the apartment. The family's main residence was outside the city, but the they had kept the Fogle Towers as a place to entertain and serve as a guest house for visiting business acquantances.

Officially, Logan's apartment was the penthouse, but the building had a little extra studio on the half floor above his apartment. Most of his apartment had double-height cathedral ceilings, but the bedrooms and study had conventional low ceilings. Mrs. Moreno apartment sat in that space above those rooms. A small flight of steps ran up from the penthouse landing to Mrs. Moreno's front door. The night that Mrs. Moreno had fallen in the bathroom, he had backed his way up those steps one at a time to get to her apartment, painfully aware that, just one week earlier, he could have bounded up the steps easily. He supposed that, at one time, her apartment must have been a maid's quarters, a place for someone who worked for the occupant of the penthouse. If Mrs. Moreno's bathroom hadn't been directly over Logan's desk, he might never have noticed the dripping water or found Mrs. Moreno. Lucky for her, he supposed.

Max started unloading groceries onto the counter.

"I brought the fixings for eggnog and hot chocolate for a late night snack," Max pulled eggs and cream out of the bag, "I thought it would get us in the holiday spirit."

"I'm not sure I've got much holiday spirit yet, Max," Logan said gently, his face darkening. "Still getting used to being shorter again." He rolled the chair back and forth a few times, as if to emphasize his point.

Max pointedly ignored his comment and continued to put the food into the fridge.

"I am _going _to make this eggnog. If you don't help me, I can't take any responsibility for the way it tastes _and_ a lot of eggs and cream will have been wasted, not to mention the booze." Max turned to face Logan, hand on her hip, holding up the bottle of cream and a paper bag. "And if that isn't enough inspiration, I managed to find a few elusive wild mushrooms at the street market too."

Logan looked at his favorite enhanced DNA transgenic girl, dressed in sleek black and red riding gear, stripping off her bike gloves and tying on a kitchen apron.

"All right, all right. You remind me of some post-apocalyptic dairy maid with that bottle of cream in your hand and that look on your face." He laughed and the dark moment passed.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, laughter wafted out of the kitchen. Max was wiping spots of whipped egg white off the walls and the counter, the result of lifting the beaters out of the bowl with the mixer still running.

"Don't worry about that, Max," Logan laughed. "Come over here so you can stir it all together." Logan waved Max over and she gave the counter one last swipe.

"Take the spoon and dip it down into the bowl. Then turn it over gently. Try not to stir it hard, so we don't lose all the air that's whipped into it." Logan placed his hand over Max's, gently guiding it through the motions. Max stole a glance at Logan, a stray bit of egg white stuck in his hair, his face flushed with the warmth of the kitchen. She may have refused to admit it to Original Cindy, but she couldn't deny that her feelings for Logan ran deeper than she had thought. The day that she had raced back from Dr. Vertes clinic fearing the worst, she had finally admitted to herself that Logan meant more to her than anyone else ever had.

"Ready to try some? I'll grab the pitcher." Logan made his way over to the closet, passing the bowl to Max.

A few minutes passed and Logan did not return to the kitchen. He called out, "Max, can you come over here? I could use a hand."

Max poked her head into the closet to find Logan shuffling through a few boxes.

"The pitcher's in here somewhere..."

Logan fished out the pitcher and Max climbed onto a stool to put the other boxes back on the shelf. She paused, still standing on the stool.

"Hurry up. I thought you wanted to try this eggnog," Logan added, a note of impatience in his voice.

"Hold on. There's something up here," Max pushed aside some boxes on the shelf, and felt around on the shelf again. She felt a smooth bar, painted the same dark color as the inside of the closet hung flush against the ceiling. Max grabbed the bar and gently pulled down on it. A narrow ladder slid down from the ceiling almost to the ground. Before Logan had time for a word of caution, Max was up the ladder. She pushed up on one of the large ceiling tiles and stuck her head through the opening.

"What the hell is _that_?" Logan pushed forward and peered up into the opening through which the ladder disappeared

"I don't know. You ever come across this in any of your research on the building?" Max called down, her voice muffled.

Max nimbly climbed the last few steps and disappeared from sight. In a minute, her head appeared again, now hanging upside-down.

"This ladder goes right into Mrs. Moreno's front closet. But it's just a closet. From what I can see, it doesn't look like there's anything special about it. Do you want me to look around some more?".

Logan began to feel guilty poking around Mrs. Moreno's apartment. "Max, just come back down. Let me look at my notes."

The pitcher now forgotten, Logan headed back to the computer.


	3. Chapter 3

Max followed him back to the computer room.

"You have notes on Mrs. Moreno's apartment?" Max asked, pulling up a chair to look over Logan's shoulder.

"Well, not exactly," Logan answered, "but back when I started with Eyes Only, Peter and I hacked into the landlord's building records. I ran the names of the all the tenants and found a few who had committed a few misdemeanors, but nothing more."

Max flipped through the blueprints and paper files that Logan had pulled years ago.

"During most of the time the penthouse was owned by the Westings, there was no separate tenant for Mrs. Moreno's little studio. She didn't move in until a few years before you came.

After an hour, Logan straightened up, stretching his back. "I can't figure out why anyone would build that ladder. Those closets are like some dingy side alley between the two apartments. I guess we'll just to wait until Mrs. Moreno in a couple of days and ask her if she knows anything about it."

The eggnog was almost gone and Max reluctantly packed up her things.

"Sorry. I've got to swing back to my place before I go back to work."

"I guess two days before Christmas is pretty busy in the bike messenger business?"

"You know how considerate Normal is. He has us working in round-the-clock shifts. He says there are packages to be delivered now and, as far as he's concerned, _we_ can all celebrate Christmas next week when the deliveries are over. If I don't get off too late, I'll swing by later. I want to see what you're going to do with those wild mushrooms. They smell amazing."

Logan opened up the paper bag of mushrooms and shook them a little, "Don't worry, Max, I won't eat them without you. In fact, I was thinking of just making a mushroom omelet or something simple. But, I've got to wait until I've digested that huge cup of eggnog anyway. All right with you?"

When Max didn't reply, Logan repeated "Is that all right with you?" looking up at Max.

Half-turned toward the door, she had stopped, her head cocked to the side.

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

"Now, I know you don't want me to answer that question," Logan rolled his eyes.

"Someone's up in Mrs. Moreno's apartment. Didn't you say that she wasn't coming home until the morning?."

Logan nodded. He grabbed his gun from the drawer. Tucking it in one hand, uncocked, he opened the front door and moved into the hallway. Max frowned at Logan, but made her way quickly to the closet.

Max pulled the ladder down silently. In a moment, she pulled herself p through the opening in the floor of Mrs. Moreno's closet. She heard someone moving around in the apartment, talking to someone.

She pushed open the door and peered into the hallway. With one hand, a man was opening cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, rummaging through them. The contents of most of the other shelves in the room had been strewn across the floor. With the other hand, he held a cell phone to his ear.

"I'm telling you, it's just not here," he spoke hurriedly, "I looked everywhere."

"There's just too much crap here to look through everything," the man held his hand poised over Mrs. Moreno's mantle, ready to sweep aside a dozen tiny ceramic houses, decorated for Christmas.

Max stepped out from shadows, "Whoa there, buddy. What do you think you're doing…ruining a nice old lady's holiday decorations?"

The man nearly jumped out of his skin. He eyed Max up and down and started edging toward the bedroom, stuffing the telephone into his pocket.

She followed him cautiously. "Hey, keep you hands where I can see them. What were you doing in this apartment anyway?"

The man scuttled down the hallway with Max inching along behind him. "Where do you think you're going anyway? I'm going to catch you anyway and then you're _going _to tell me what you're doing here."

Max heard a sound behind her. She turned to see Logan appearing in the doorway, just as the man ducked into a Mrs. Moreno's bedroom.

Logan's gun was drawn. "I came in through the front door. He must have come in that way. It was open," he whispered.

They heard the snap of the lock in the door being turned.

"Now you're making me mad," Max called through the door. She leaned on the door, testing it. "You're going to help me fix the door, right, Logan?" she said to him before neatly kicking the door in.

Before she even turned on the light, Max could already see that the man was gone. The room looked just as Mrs. Moreno had probably left it. The bed was made, her slippers lay by the bedside. Max quickly scanned the room again in disbelief . Moving forward, Logan trained his gun on the closet, the only other hiding place. Max nodded at Logan and threw open the closet door.

"Shit. You have got to be kidding me. How many of these secret passageways are there anyway?"

The closet was empty. A hole gaped in the floor where one of the boards had been removed. Logan leaned over to look down into the hole.

A perfect view into his own bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Installment #2. I didn't mention it before, but I'm sure you've figured out that this takes place immediately after "Female Trouble". Thanks to our faithful readers and reviewers! More belated gifting to Mari. Check out the original A/N for the challenge that led to this story.**

* * *

By the time Max dropped down into Logan's penthouse, the man was gone. Logan made his way back down the steps to his own front door, swearing under his breath. He flung his gun back in the drawer and slammed the drawer.

"How is it possible that I have not one, but two, trapdoors leading into my apartment? And what could that guy possibly want with Mrs. Moreno? And if it's not Mrs. Moreno he's after, what does he want?" Logan took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face.

Max was standing on Logan's bed looking up at the trapdoor, camouflaged neatly among the ceiling panels. "Logan, it might not be Mrs. Moreno herself, but that guy was definitely looking for something in her apartment. I'm as paranoid as the next person, but it didn't look like it had anything to do with Eyes Only, if that's what you're worried about. I'm sure you'll figure it all out," Max said, closing the trap door, hopping down off the bed and heading back to the living room. Max sighed and settled herself onto the couch.

"What do you think you're doing? I thought you had a mandatory Christmas Eve shift?" Logan said when he saw her sitting on the couch. .

"I'm not leaving you here alone, right after a guy just busted into the penthouse." Max replied, not looking up from the magazine she was now pretending to read.

"Max, whoever he is, he's not going to come back in the next eight hours. After that fiasco, he's at least going to wait until I'm out of the apartment. Just get out of here."

When Max didn't respond, Logan moved closer to the couch and gently removed Bling's copy of _Navy SEALs – Medical Coverage and Other Benefits_ from her hands. "Really Max, I'll be fine."

Max looked up at him, squinting as if this would allow her to read his expression more readily. Then, she pursed her lips and shrugged. "I'm crazy late now anyway. I'll just going to go straight to Jam Pony. I'll check in with you right after my shift."

Max grabbed her jacket and breezed out the door, nodding apologetically at the messy kitchen. It was Logan's turn to shrug and he quickly shooed her out of the apartment.

The penthouse was quiet. Logan turned back to his computer. He pulled up his old notes and scanned them quickly again. He must be missing something. Needing a change, he dragged the box of documents over to the living room. He moved over to the couch and began sorting the papers again, spreading them out in piles on the coffee table and the floor, typing more notes into his laptop. He went on for some time, broke off to close his eyes for a few hours and returned too the typing.

The short Seattle winter day was coming to an end by 4 PM. When the phone rang at five o'clock, the windows were completely dark.

"How's it going?" Max asked tentatively.

Logan sighed, "It's ridiculous. I've gone over the blueprints and all the information about Mrs. Moreno's apartment a hundred times. Maybe I'm looking at the whole thing backwards. Mrs. Moreno's apartment was originally an add-on maid's quarters. It's hardly mentioned at all. There just isn't anything more to know about her little place."

Hearing himself say the words out loud, something occurred to him. "What if we turn it around? What if it's really about _my_ apartment?" he thought out loud. "Let's just assume, for a moment, that it has nothing to do with Eyes Only. What about Westing, the guy who sold me the penthouse? If Mrs. Moreno's apartment was still connected to the penthouse, still a part of his property, couldn't _he _have been the one who hid something up there instead of in the main part of the penthouse?

"Didn't you say he had to get rid of the apartment in a hurry?" Max asked into the phone.

"Maybe it'll be a dead end too, but I'm going to do a little more digging. Call me back in an hour."


	5. Chapter 5

Logan clicked off to his headset phone. He began to pull up documents from the time period when he had bought the Fogle Towers penthouse. News articles revealed that the Westing Family had owned a company which specialized in document storage, _paper_ document storage. As corporations began to rely more heavily on digital document storage, their warehouses of paper documents had become obsolete. Companies asked Westing Storage to destroy the paper documents, but even that process cost more than the companies were paying them, so the useless documents were shuttled back and forth to more and more remote locations.

Then, the Pulse hit. Most digital data storage relied on constant power. Emergency generators only supplied enough power to bridge the 10 minute gap until alternative power feeds kicked in. When those alternative power feeds failed, enormous amounts of data were lost instantly. And even the data which had been previously safely stored couldn't be accessed because the hardware and software needed to use that data had also been destroyed.

Suddenly, the companies remembered Westing Storage. Maybe, the storage company still had paper records that they could use to reconstruct the information they needed.

Of course, Westing had replied that they could indeed locate the records they needed, _if _ they were willing to pay for it.

The corporate heads roared in outrage.

They accused Westing of holding their records hostage. They argued that the records were their property and that Westing had no right to make them bid for the right to buy them back. They called for Westing's arrest.

Unfortunately, the police had more important things to do after the Pulse. Looters still filled the streets. People needed water, power, and lines of communication. Chasing after document storage companies was not high on the police department's list of priorities.

Corporations had no choice but to pay the outrageous prices to get their records back. Over time, Westing became greedier and greedier. Sensing that the authorities had neither the resources nor the inclination to chase after them, Westing became involved in increasingly more nefarious schemes. The newspaper articles only hinted at these deals, but some involved the sale of the particularly damaging pieces of information, essentially corporate blackmail.

Suddenly, five years after the Pulse, something changed. In quick succession, the younger Westing son, the previous owner of the Fogle Towers penthouse, was arrested, then released. Then the company announced that it would release all its paper records for the originally agreed upon fees. The flow of money appeared to stop, but Westing Storage had already made untold millions in the previous five years. No one was ever convicted, or even indicted, for any wrongdoing. The young Mr. Westing's case was sealed.

"Wow," Max breathed when Logan had finished telling her the details.

"Hey, listen to this," Logan sat up straighter. "Blake Westing, the second son of the Westing dynasty, is set to take over the company this week. Isn't that interesting?"

Logan continued more urgently into the phone, "That sealed case has to have something to do with Mrs. Moreno's apartment and the break-in. I emailed Matt about getting it unsealed. I just have this hunch," Logan blew on his fourth cup of coffee. He had moved to the couch with his laptop after several hours.

"I thought the great Eyes Only didn't rely on hunches, only facts," Max teased. At Jam Pony, Max leaned against the wall next to the phone and cradled the receiver under her chin. She waved off another bike messenger waiting to use the payphone.

"Max, I asked if you were going to help me with this." Logan snapped impatiently.

"All right, all right. Of course I will," sighed into the phone, her mind on the eggnog and the recent coziness of Logan's kitchen. Logan's voice brought her back to reality. "Get some sleep, Logan. You're not going to get an answer back from Matt tonight anyway."

Max had another thought. "Logan, you don't think that guy will come back and try to break into the penthouse do you?"

"Nah. If he wanted anything from my place, he would have grabbed it when he passed through before," Logan replied flippantly.

"Logan, that is the weakest argument I've ever heard. We don't even know what he's after!"

"All right, Max. I'll try to check with Bling about some extra security detail in the morning. If the guy's going to come back, I don't think it'll be tonight. He's going to wait until I'm out of the apartment, at least. Besides, it's not that easy to get into this apartment. I can take care of things myself for a little while, okay? I got it." Logan's voice started taking on an edge.

Max pressed on, ignoring Logan's tone. "I'll finish off my shift while you sleep. Then, I'm coming over anyway,"

"Fine, Max. I've got to hit the shower. Then, I'm done. It's been a long day, even for me."

"Get some rest, Logan."

Max rested her head against the wall at Jam Pony, the phone still pressed to her ear. She imagined Logan still at his desk, hanging up the phone. She imagined herself rubbing his tired shoulders, leaning in to press her lips on….

"Get the hell off the phone, Max! You think this is your personal phone booth?" A sweaty biking glove hit her in the head.

Max slammed the phone back onto the cradle. She tossed her head, and soundly smacked her co-worker in the back of the head.


	6. Chapter 6

Logan closed his laptop. He slid from the couch back to his chair and moved to the bedroom. He lay in bed for a long time, turning over the crazy events of the day, unable to sleep. But he must have fallen asleep eventually because a beeping from his laptop awoke him. Logan straightened his glasses and looked at the clock.

Two A.M.

Logan pushed up on one elbow and reached for the chair, moving more slowly than usual. Since his last session with Vertes, the strength in his legs had faded quickly, but the sensation had taken longer to go away, so he still had a persistent tingling feeling and some occasional muscle spasms. It annoyed him intensely that muscles that no longer obeyed him could still feel sore and stiff. Impatiently, he settled his feet on the footrest, leaning on one knee to stop his foot from trembling. He reached for the beeping laptop on the dresser.

"I guess I should see what so important that it can't wait until morning," Logan grumbled, cruising to the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Setting the coffee and the laptop on the table, he opened his mail account. Matt had sent him some attachments labeled simply, _Urgent: Hope this helps_.

Logan skimmed quickly down the case file. It began shortly after the Pulse, in 2009, around the time that Westing Storage Inc. began its success. The police had become aware of the company's extortion tactics, but they couldn't stop them. At first, they had lacked time and resources, but by 2010 the lawlessness of the Pulse had settled down a little. The police began turn their attention back to the white collar crime scene that was holding Seattle hostage. The only problem was that Westing Storage had become too good at covering its tracks.

No one made any headway on the case until, suddenly in 2011, an informant came forward. The file described how Blake Westing had fancied himself to be some sort of new age aristocrat. He had hired a man to be a driver, handyman and all-around general assistant, like an old-fashioned valet. Furthermore, he had built a tiny apartment above his own, so that the assistant could be nearby by. According to the police file, something had happened to turn the man against Westing and he had come to the police offering to give them evidence to put the whole family away.

The informant had apparently recorded hours of meetings held in Westing's dining room and kitchen, listening in from his apartment above. One week before the police planned to arrest Westing and his father, the informant vanished. His body was found several days later, but the tapes never resurfaced. The Fogle Towers penthouse and the driver's apartment were searched after the driver's death, but the police never found any tapes or other recordings. Blake Westing was held for questioning, but eventually released.

Without the recordings, the police couldn't charge the Westings and, shortly afterward, the Westing family closed ranks. They fired many of their longtime staff and released their stored records to the original owners. No one ever recuperated the millions of dollars already lost and none of the Westings ever went to jail. The recordings never resurfaced and were presumed lost. Blake Westing held onto the apartment a few more years, until he sold it to Logan.

The file ended there. Logan looked up from the computer, alone in the penthouse, everything dark except the glow from his laptop. He half-expected Westing's cronies to be staring at him from around his own living room. It seemed more and more likely that the break-in upstairs had nothing to do with Eyes Only.

Just to confirm, Logan typed in a quick message for Matt to pick up in the office later.

He was surprised when the answer popped up a minute later.

_Yes. It's confirmed. Blake Westing is slated to take over the company in 3 days._

If the Westing heir was ready to grab the reins for the family business, it made sense that he would want to clean up loose ends. If he was sending men out to Mrs. Moreno's apartment, maybe it meant that the informant's recordings were still up there. Somewhere.

Logan shut the laptop and, grabbing is empty coffee mug, made his way slowly back to the dark kitchen. He started a new pot of coffee and glanced at the clock.

Six o'clock.

Max would be back soon. The sky outside the picture windows was still black. The winter nights in Seattle were long and dark and the sun wouldn't show itself for another couple of hours. He flicked on the dim light over the stove. Logan opened the fridge and rummaged around for the eggs and the mushrooms that Max had brought yesterday.

"She'll be expecting breakfast," he thought, a smile creeping to his lips.

He pulled the frying pan down and started slicing mushrooms. An herbed omelet seemed like a good use of them. He glowered at the canister of dried herbs, which now sat just out of reach on the high shelf. Of course, he had put it there two weeks ago, when he had last used it. Annoyed at himself, he dragged a bar stool back to the cabinet. He transferred from chair to stool, then up to the counter, grabbing the box of spices from the shelf. Finally, he turned back to the mushrooms in the pan. The lamp above the stove made a dim circle of light shining on his pan since he had been too lazy to turn the other lights on.

He was still perched on the counter, reaching across to stir the eggs when he heard someone moving in the front hallway.

"Perfect timing, Max. Your mushrooms aren't quite ready, but the coffee's hot," Logan called out.

Logan's voice echoed in the quiet apartment. His hand froze mid stir..

There was no answer. It wasn't Max. Someone else was in the apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Haven't updated in ages, so I hope you haven't forgotten my story. Got a few updates and an ending just on the horizon. Hang in there with me, Mari and everyone else!**

_Fogle Towers_

Logan's mind raced. He ran through a quick mental checklist, but he knew he hadn't messed with the security system. Besides, he had seen Max quietly check on the alarm just before she had left. There was no way someone could have gotten in without him knowing it. Unless that someone had climbed down that ladder from upstairs.

"Who the hell is this guy? I can't believe he's back for more," Logan kicked himself for not taking Max's warning more seriously.

Logan reached up to turn off the stove light, plunging the apartment into inky darkness again. As quickly as he dared, he slid off the counter and back into his chair. The penthouse was silent except for the pop and sizzle of the pan on the stove.

Then, he heard it again. The scrape of wood and the sound of someone moving around in the front hallway closet.

Keeping his eyes in the direction of the front hallway, he reached back towards the stove. He turned up the heat under the pan and the crackling grew louder. He couldn't see anyone, but he had to assume that if the intruder was coming from the hall, he would probably come directly to the kitchen to find out where all the noise was coming from. Logan edged away from the hallway, toward the living room, trying to circle back to his office where he knew his gun lay in the desk drawer.

The seconds ticked by as Logan inched his way toward the office and the gun.

The hallway was silent. Perhaps the man had made his way towards the bedrooms. The thought of a stranger looking through his personal things irritated him especially. Who did this guy think he was anyway?

Logan pushed slowly past the dining table, his wheels almost silent on the polished floor. He felt painfully exposed, expecting the invader to come around the corner at any second. The faint light from the monitor in his office made the glass panel walls glow. It didn't look like there was any movement in the office. Not waiting for the man to appear, Logan crossed the last few feet of floor quickly now. The office was empty. As quietly as he could, he opened the drawer and reached for the gun.

"What do you think you're doing?" an icy voice spoke from behind Logan's back. A shadow fell across the desk in front of him.

"Hey, hero," the man sneered, "I'm talking to you. I'm just passing through, you know. So if you want to live another day, I suggest you get those hands up and let me tie you up."

Logan froze with one hand on the edge of the partly open drawer and one hand on a wheel, his back still facing the man.

"I saw your little helper leave, so you're here all by yourself. You've got a lot of high-end equipment in here. You a peeping Tom? Shooting a little triple-X black-market video up here in your little fancy penthouse? Is that what you were you doing up in annex yesterday?" the man's voice sneered.

"In Mrs. Moreno's apartment? Yeah, we were shooting a Christmas special," Logan answered. "I was looking out for a neighbor," he continued. "What about you?"

The man ignored Logan's question. "You didn't find anything up there after I left, did you? If you want to get out of this without a bullet hole in you, I'll give you this one chance to hand it over. The man narrowed his eyes and cocked the gun, still aiming it at Logan.

"I don't know. What were you looking for? Was it bigger than a breadbox?" Logan cast his eyes over the items on his desk. A couple of discs lay next to one of the monitors. From his angle, he could just see the edge of his gun inside the partly open drawer. He could almost touch it.

The man stepped closer to Logan until Logan could hear his rough breathing only a few feet away. "You have no idea what I'm talking about. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. You and your little helper saw me the other day. That's what my boss calls a "loose end" and he really doesn't like loose ends." The man took a few more steps toward Logan, until he stood directly behind him.

Logan glanced back at his captor now. His clean shaven face seemed at odds with his dirty clothing and torn shoes. Whoever he was, the Pulse hadn't treated him much better than anyone else in the city. The man's gray eyes caught Logan's.

"What are you looking at?" the man sneered. He gestured with the gun toward Logan's feet. "'Least I know you haven't been climbing any ladders lately. Or maybe you sent your little girlfriend upstairs to snoop around. She better watch out if she doesn't want to get hurt."

The man circled around the desk to face Logan. Logan still sat motionless, gazing steadily back. Logan let his eyes flick momentarily down toward the table. The man's eyes narrowed and he cast them down over the stacks of electronic equipment on the desk. His eyes fell on the disks lying in front of Logan.

"It's here somewhere, "the man grabbed at the disks, "You've already found it.

Logan reached one hand toward the disk and pushed forward with the other hand.

Suddenly, an ear-splitting shriek filled the apartment as the sound of the fire alarm erupted.

Logan plunged his hand into the drawer after the gun.

"Hey, what the hell?" The man leaned against the desk, toward Logan, starting to bring his own gun back up.

Logan closed his hand around the gun, still in the drawer. Releasing the safety, he fired two shots through the back of the drawer and the desk. With a cry, the man jerked and stumbled back. His eyes wide with astonishment, he raised his own gun. Logan pulled his gun out of the drawer and fired again. Two shots rang out. The man fell back and lay still.

The screams of the fire alarm filled the penthouse. Smoke hung in a thick cloud near the ceiling and kept streaming in from the direction of the kitchen. Ducking his head, as if that might help him to avoid breathing in the smoke, Logan made his way back to the kitchen. Thick black smoke still poured from the burning pan on the stove. Logan shut off the stove and dumped the pot into the sink, sending up another burst of smoke and steam.

Hooking the gun with his fingertips, he wheeled cautiously toward the front hall closet. He could see the ladder hanging down through the half-open door. Just as he was moving forward, he saw the ladder start to shake and move as though someone was coming down it.


	8. Chapter 8

"What is this, Grand Central Station?" Logan whispered to himself through the din of the alarm. He coasted forward to peer at the trapdoor. Training the gun on the opening in the ceiling with one hand, he pushed cautiously forward with the other hand. Expecting to see a foot descend onto the ladder, he started back when he saw a head of curly hair drop down from the ceiling instead.

"Max! You scared the hell out of me...I almost shot you." Logan lowered the gun.

Max's upside-down face stared at him with serious eyes. Suddenly, her expression changed.

"Logan," she yelled, grabbing onto the ladder with both hands. Flipping head over heels, she swung her legs down, coming straight at Logan.

"Max!"

Max kept coming. Her boot caught Logan in the shoulder. He started tipping backwards towards the floor. He lunged backward to avoid the brunt of her weight and turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the gray-eyed intruder standing right behind him, gun in his unsteady hand - just a split second before Max crashed into both of them.

The man was thrown onto the ground along with Max, Logan, and the wheelchair. Stranger rolled over first, pale and shaking. He raised his gun to point it at Max's back as she started to get up.

At that moment, the fire alarm inexplicably stopped.

"Max!" Logan pulled the trigger and the sharp crack split the silence. The man fell to the ground, his gun clattering as it hit the floor for the second time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: As promised, here's a quick next installment. If you have any thoughts, one way or another, PLEASE REVIEW!**

_Two hours later, very early Christmas morning, Penthouse, Fogle Towers._

"Tell me again about how you shot him through the back of the desk?" Max was running cold water onto the ruined pan of burnt mushrooms in the sink.

Max and Logan had finally returned to the kitchen mess. Despite being shot twice, the intruder had turned out to be not quite dead. So, Max had dragged him into the bedroom and unceremoniously applied some duct tape to his mouth. The man's two rather substantially sized bullet holes proved not to be fatal, so, in the end, Logan had called Bling, who had volunteered to anonymously drop the man off on the Metro Medical ER "doorstep" on his way to pick up Mrs. Moreno. With a little distraction by Max, he had managed to get the injured crook out of the service elevator and into the back of the Aztek. Bling had just bundled the man off to the hospital, when Logan's doorman arrived in the other elevator. He had come to inquire about the fire alarm that had been going off for such a long time. Logan had finally managed to convince him that his burnt lunch had set off the alarm and that he was all right.

Finally, the apartment was quiet again. Logan took stock of the damage. The whole apartment smelled of burnt mushrooms and the walls and ceiling of the kitchen were black. Foam from the fire extinguisher had seeped between the stove and the wall and had dripped onto the floor. Max had been trying to wipe the black soot off the wall, but had succeeded only in making the dark, damp spot bigger.

"How did you shoot him through the desk, again?" Max paused a moment.

"Thanks for reminding me about ruining my desk too, Max. Not to mention my favorite frying pan."

"I can't believe you're complaining about a desk. What about my precious mushrooms? Do you know how long I had to search the market for those?

Max leaned against the counter to survey the blackened kitchen.

"Maybe you should just come over to my place for Christmas dinner," Max sighed as she laid down the sponge and wiped her forehead with a sooty hand. She smiled at Logan.

"Original Cindy was planning to fix a mean macaroni and cheese for today."

Max folded herself onto a bar stool and cocked her head to catch Logan's eye.

"Cheer up, Logan. Everyone's safe…" Max's hair, made even curlier by the heat of the kitchen, hung in ringlets around her soot-stained face. Logan reached out a hand to wipe a spot from her cheek.

"I guess you're right, Max"

A knock sounded at the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Wearily, Logan wound his way through the mess, back to the front door. He opened the door to find Mrs. Moreno standing next to Bling.

"I wanted to thank you myself for getting me out of hospital," Mrs. Moreno started to say shyly, "Thanks for vouching for me."

"She was all packed and ready when I got there to pick her up," Bling stood behind her

"I've been ready to go home for days," Mrs. Moreno continued. "It was just a bump on the head. Just had a bad moment, I suppose. Nothing, really. Is everything all right with you up here, Logan? The doorman said you'd had a fire in the penthouse today." Mrs. Moreno peered past Logan, looking concerned.

"It was nothing much. Just set off the fire alarm. Nothing a little cleaning up can't take care of," Logan smiled wearily.

"Well," Mrs. Moreno started, sniffing disapprovingly at the burnt smell "I'd like you all to come over to my place for a little Christmas dinner, if you don't have other plans. Nothing complicated, of course. But I hate to spend Christmas day alone and your kitchen is in no condition for cooking. I may not have much in the house, but I can still feed a few kids on Christmas Day."

"You just got home, Mrs. Moreno. Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" Max smiled.

"Nonsense. Cooking's one thing I have no problem doing. Why don't you come too?" Mrs. Moreno turned to Bling.

"I'm afraid I already have holiday plans. But you two kids run along and have a good time," Bling answered.

"Well then, it's settled," Mrs. Moreno nodded. "Come on over after you've finished and I'll see you then."

With Bling's help, the rest of the cleanup went quickly. By the time they had all had quick showers, the mood was practically festive. Bling wished them a Merry Christmas and left to join his family for dinner. Max wrapped a bottle of pre-Pulse Cabernet. Logan made his way into the hallway and up the steps again.

Logan looked back to see Max leaning on the wall next to the elevator.

"You didn't have to sneak off by yourself, you know," Max's voice came softly.

"A bit out of practice on the steps, you know…" he paused, not sure how to go on. "I was getting used to being on my feet. Things are going to take a little getting used to."

"Seems like you're doing all right."

Max started to say something else, but before she could, Mrs. Moreno opened the door, filling the hallway with the delicious smell of cooking food.

As Max passed Logan at the doorway, she leaned down to give his shoulder a squeeze.

"I told you before. It was never about you being able to walk."


	11. Chapter 11

"Could you take this pot over to the table?" Mrs. Moreno ladled the last of the fragrant stew into a wide bowl. She gestured to Max to put the heavy pan on the table. "When I used to serve Christmas dinner for all of my relatives, I made tamales and baked my own bread, but that was in the old days. I'm afraid pozole will have to do for today. Anyway, it's what we used to serve on Christmas Eve, so I guess that's close enough.

They sat around Mrs. Moreno's small table, passing a few small dishes of radishes and pumpkin seeds to sprinkle in their steaming bowls. A happy silence settled onto the group interrupted only by praise for the Mrs. Moreno's cooking.

"I didn't realize I was this hungry." Max reached for the ladle again.

"I could have told you you'd be that hungry," Logan laughed. He turned to Mrs. Moreno, "Where did you get pumpkin seeds around here? I haven't seen pepitas at a market in years."

"Don't tell the super, my boy, but I've been growing the seed pumpkins on the roof. You usually need a pretty big garden, but up there, I've got all the space I need. No one can get up there but me. It's my big secret."

"So that's what all those plants were! I thought they were just weeds!" Max remarked, before she could catch herself.

"What did you say?" Mrs. Moreno turned to Max, puzzled.

"She was saying the salad greens were unusual, "Logan jumped in, looking sideways at Max.

"Oh. For a second there, I thought you were saying you'd been up to the roof. Of course, the only door onto the roof is through _my_ apartment, you know," the older woman chuckled, shaking her head.

Changing the subject, Logan asked, "Do you think you could spare a few of those seeds? One of my friends has a little garden plot and she offered me a little space to plant something."

"Sure," just don't share them with anyone else. Those seeds have been passed down through generations of Morenos.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Logan replied.

Mrs Moreno gestured to the kitchen.

"Why don't you get them now, so I don't forget later. They're in the kitchen, in the drawer under the cutting board. And while you're there, can you cut some more bread?" Mrs. Moreno added.

"I'll help," Max got up from the table, leading the way into the kitchen.

Max pulled the cutting board out from its slot next to the sink and started to cut the bread.

"Hey, what's that?" Logan asked.

"It's the bread, Logan. I may not know how to cook, but I think I know how to slice bread," Max waved the long bread knife in Logan's direction.

"No. I mean what's that under the cutting board?" From Logan's vantage point, at eye level with the cutting board, he could see something hanging down from the underside of the cutting board.

"Is it a piece of paper or something?" Pushing aside the bread and knife, Logan carefully pulled out the board and flipped it over. A dark brown envelope, which had probably started out the same color as the wood, had been taped to the underside of the board. It looked faded and stained and the peeling duct tape which had held it flush to the wood now hung in ragged strips. Carefully, Logan pulled the last pieces of tape away and lifted the envelope from the board. He tilted it over the table.

Out slid a thin strip of plastic, about the size of a stick of gum - huge by today's standards, but a new innovation 15 years ago.

A flash drive, circa 2010.

"What are you two doing in there?" Mrs. Moreno called from the dining room, "Did you find the bread?"

"Oh yeah, we found it all right."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Here are the last 3 chapters. Sorry, they've been such a long time coming. For Mari, sorry for the delay. **

_That same night. 4 hours later… 11 PM. Penthouse, Fogle Towers._

Logan adjusted the headset of his phone as turned from the dresser toward his bed. He had just climbed out of the shower and thrown on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt when Matt had called. His hair still wet, he ran a towel over his head while he adjusted the headset.

"Hang on a minute, Matt, I can't quite hear you. I'm working on batteries here, so if I run out of juice, I might cut out," Logan spoke quickly to the detective.

Matt's voice came through clearly, "I just wanted you to thank Eyes Only for me. I know he could have released the Westing recordings himself, on a cable hack, so I appreciate his turning over the tapes to me. Thanks for making me and the department look good."

"No problem, Matt. But I would never have been able to put it all together if you hadn't sent me the intel' in the first place. I hope you understand why Eyes Only doesn't want anyone to know that the tapes came from me. I guess Eyes Only wants to keep my name out of it. You'll just have to keep the credit for catching the burgler with the tapes. I guess Eyes Only wants to keep using me. So it's better if I keep flying under the radar a little longer," Logan offered.

"I can see why Eyes Only wants to keep you around," Matt teased. "The burgler's name is Burt Hyde, by the way. He woke up for a few minutes in the hospital, but I just started questioning him. You were right. Adam Westing, the younger son, the one who owned your apartment, hired Hyde to track down the recordings. Westing was finishing his prison term, getting ready to take over the family business. Getting a hold of those tapes was the last test before his family would hand over the business. Guess he failed that test."

Logan went on, gravely, "Not only did he fail the test, he offered up the whole family to the police for fraud and extortion. Well, they'll have a many years in prison together to discuss it amongst themselves."

"Logan," Matt asked tentatively, "I've got to ask. How do you know the burgler will go along with your story? How do you know he'll keep your name out of his story?"

"Believe, me, Matt," Logan went on, "Hyde wants Westing to believe that he tracked the recordings to the Rat Trap black market*, wrestled them from the seller and got shot in the process. He does _not _want Westing to know that he got shot twice by a guy in a wheelchair and gave up his employer to the police in a heartbeat. Besides, armed robbery can carry a life sentence and he's happy not to be charged with _that_. Hyde will go along with our story. My informant who dropped him off at the hospital made sure of it."

.

"How did you actually find the flashdrive anyway? The police turned that place upside down years ago. They never turned up anything."

"I guess, in my case, it paid off to have a little shorter vantage point." Logan proceeded to tell Matt about finding the envelope taped under the cutting board.

Logan's phone cut out for a moment and he paused to move a candle to the bedside table and blow out the rest of the candles on the dresser. The rest of the apartment went dark, except for the small circle of light around the bed.

Matt went on, "Are you sure you won't meet me for a drink? I want to buy you a beer for giving me a chance to impress the chief."

Logan smiled wistfully at the thought, "I really wish I could, but I'll have to take a rain check. The fire triggered a shutdown in the elevator, so they've shut off all the power while they're working on it, so I'm not going anywhere for a while.

"Hey, I'm sorry, man."

"It's all right. We're still getting a brownout every week or two, you know, so it's nothing new." Logan shifted the head set to speaker phone and set it on the bed as he bent to take off his shoes.

"Everything's all set with the reward money too, Logan," Matt continued. "I was surprised that Eyes Only wanted it. I didn't think he accepted rewards. The chief did ask me which informant tipped me to the burgler. Naturally, I didn't tell him. He was curious, but he didn't press me when I told him my informant was really shy."

Logan answered, "I guess Eyes Only had a specific idea in mind for the money. I really don't know. Sometimes, it's best not to know too much. Logan's headset beeped a warning as the battery started to fade.

"All right then, Matt sighed. "I guess I'll sign off for now…at least until I can buy you that beer. At least you don't have to worry about any more break-ins. Catch you later."

Logan clicked off the headset and tossed it back onto the bedside table. He lifted his bare feet onto the floor and nudged the chair closer before shifting himself over to the bed. With the air conditioning out, the penthouse felt hot. Even with the window open, there was hardly a breeze to move the warm air in the apartment. Logan's skin felt damp from the shower he had just taken to cool down and his shirt stuck to his back.

Logan's headset blinked feebly again. Holding it to his ear, he smiled in spite of himself.

"Hey." Max's familiar voice came through. "Did you page me?"

Logan spoke quickly, wary of the fading battery, "Are you still working? It's Christmas Day. Well, technically, it's the day after Christmas at this point."

"Nah, even Jam Pony is finally closed. I went over to Metro Medical to check on our burgler. Just wanted to make sure that he was crystal clear on what would happen to him if he tried to implicate either of us."

"So, is he clear on the concept?"

"Apparently, Bling already went over it pretty convincingly. Even while on some serious drugs, that dirtbag was able to recite the whole story back to me – the one about him getting shot by some other dirtbags while stealing the recording from some guys in the Rat Trap.

"Bling does good work, Max."

"So do you, Logan Cale. Somehow you always manage bring the crooks to justice. By the way, I heard that, years ago, the police offered some reward money for finding the Westing tapes. Don't suppose a certain cat burgler could get a cut of that, do you?"

"Sorry, Max. Remember when Westing's old butler, the original informant, turned up dead? The police report said that the Westings lured him out into the open by kidnapping his family and holding them as bait. Eventually, the police found the informant's body, but the family just disappeared."

"_And…_ Logan? I still think my claim to the money is legit'."

"Max, the informant had a wife and a son. His name was Marrone." I got to thinking about Mrs. Moreno's family. She's from Mexico, but when I mentioned that the name Moreno wasn't actually very common in Mexico, even though there were a lot of Morenos in Spain, she told me that her maiden name was actually Alvarez. Moreno was her husband's name and _he _wasn't actually Mexican. He was Italian, but he changed his name to Moreno. Originally, it was Marrone."

"If she knew all about the Westings, why didn't Mrs. Moreno come up with the disk sooner?"

"Mrs. Moreno never knew anything about the disk. Her husband told her he worked for the Westings, but even after he got married, he never brought his family to live at Fogle Towers. He kept another apartment for his wife and chilld. He knew the Westings were trouble and he always tried to keep them as far away from his family as he could."

"What about the kidnapping?"

"The Westings did grab Mrs. Moreno and her son, Jonathan. But after they killed Mr. Moreno and still failed to locate the disk _and_ the police connected Mr. Moreno's death with Adam Westing, they got cold feet. They released Mrs. Moreno and Jonathan and no one ever told them anything. At the time, Mrs. Moreno barely spoke English. The police told her that her husband had been killed, but they never told her the circumstances. At first, it was because they were still looking for the disk. But even after it became clear that they weren't going to find disk, no one ever explained to Mrs. Moreno what happened to her husband. In those days, everyone just assumed that the Pulse was to blame - that the police had their hands full and no one had the resources to find out what happened."

"So the Morenos just went on with their lives like nothing happened?"

"What else could they do? They went on squatting in some building across town. But when that building was shut down, Mrs. Moreno's son, Jonathan, found some old rent agreement with his father's things. It listed the Fogle Towers address, so the Morenos wandered back to the building, asking about the penthouse add-on. At the time, the managers of the building were desperate for rent and Jonathan Moreno was able to pay enough to keep them happy, so they moved in. I remember the managers notifying me that Mrs. Moreno lived there, but I had just moved in myself, so what did I care? It had been 10 years and there was no one left in the building who remembered the Morenos' connection to the Westing family."

"That's a crazy story, Logan...I still don't see why I can't have the reward money."

"That's the thing, Max. I spoke to Jonathan Moreno today. It seems that he only left Seattle for D.C. because he was desperate to find a job. He couldn't move his mom because he wasn't sure how long the job would last. He couldn't come back for the holidays because he didn't have the money. The reward isn't much, but it's enough to buy enough round trip tickets to get him home a couple times a year. He's coming home for a visit next week."

"Why, Mr. Logan Cale of the Brigade for Widows, Small Children and Lost Animals. I must say you've been busy today. You're sure there isn't enough left for me too?"

"Sorry, Max. But, maybe I can make it up to you. It's been a crazy couple of days, but I think I could get enough energy up for a little celebration. The kitchen's still a mess, but I think I can dig up some champagne and a snack." Logan felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he thought about seeing Max again. He started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his chair.

"Oh, Logan. I'd love to…but it's so late. I didn't think you'd be up for a visit. I made plans with Original Cindy and Sketch over at Crash. Sorry."

"It's okay, Max," Logan answered, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"You could always come out with us, Logan," Max offered tentatively.

"For once, I think I'd say yes, but the elevator's still down, so I guess I'll have to try for next time. ."

"Oh." Max couldn't think of anything to fill the silence.

"It's okay, Max," Logan repeated, "I'll catch up with you later."

Logan's phone died before he had a chance to catch Max's answer. What could she have said anyway? The elevator was out and that was that.


	13. Chapter 13

Of course, the elevator going out was regular occurrence. Usually, Bling checked on him to make sure he had what he needed. Bling would probably come by in the morning to make sure that everything was all right, so there was really no reason to be bothered by the fact that he was stuck in the penthouse. Except that Max was out there. And he was in here.

Max was heading to Crash with her friends and, for just a moment, Logan had wanted to join her. The thought of hanging out at a bar beside Max, with a beer in his hand, had made him smile. He had imagined himself there. They were just friends. He knew Max didn't think of him in that way, but he couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that her visits brought.

Logan pushed the thoughts from his mind. He tossed the cellphone headpiece onto the bedside table again and glanced at the clock. 11 P.M. The air was hot. Seattle could be cold and rainy for the whole winter, but its humidity could make summers hot and damp too. With the electricity out, the air conditioner was down too. If anything, the air in the apartment felt even warmer than it had two hours ago. Logan started to put on a T-shirt, then changed his mind, tossing it onto his chair. He lay down on the bed, tucking his hands under the pillow in search of any cool spots still untouched by the stifling heat. He closed his eyes, but the thought of his lost evening with Max kept him from sleeping. He watched the square shape of the window getting dimmer as the city lights started to go out.

Slowly, the dark square of the window went black. In the early days just after the Pulse, there had been so few working lights that the night sky had been bright with stars. Even if Seattle was in ruins by day, at least the nights had been gorgeous. Over the past eight years, more city lights had appeared, but the stars still put on a nice show.

Outside the window, the first stars appeared. Logan watched as one star began to glow brighter and brighter. Slowly, it grew bigger and moved toward his window.

"Right," he thought, "this is a dream." Not wanting to wake himself up – who knew how long it would take for him to fall asleep again - he watched and waited. The star came closer until the brilliant glow seemed to hover right outside his window. He shut his eyes against light, but he could still feel the heat. Then, through his closed lids, he sensed the glow fading.

"I wonder if I should open my eyes yet," Logan whispered to his dream.

"I wouldn't," a voice whispered in his ear. Logan started, surprised to hear the voice so close to him. He started to get up, but a weight pressed down on his shoulder.

"I think you could use some more sleep," the soft voice came again, still very close, so close that he could feel warm breath on his face. He felt lips brush against his cheek, a softly planted kiss.

A nice dream, Logan thought. He settled deeper into his pillow and smiled to himself as the faint scent of cherries drifted past. .


	14. Chapter 14

Logan noticed the change in temperature first, even before he opened his eyes. The air had cooled just slightly and he felt a faint puff of a breeze on his bare chest. He stretched his shoulders lazily, the dream still fresh in his mind. Logan's bedroom door stood partly open and through it, he realized he could hear the faint sounds of someone moving around.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Do you have any chocolate syrup?" Max poked her head through the doorway before Logan had a chance to reach for his gun.

"Max! What the hell are you doing? In case you don't remember, I shot someone yesterday for breaking my apartment. It's not a good idea to sneak up on me these days."

"No, it's very unlikely you could have shot me and… Well, if you don't want a visit, I could just go back to Crash, you know."

Max stood in the doorway, a spatula in one hand, still dressed in the leather pants she had worn to the club.

"I told Original Cindy that I was going to Crash, but when I got there, it didn't seem to be all that. So, I bailed. Didn't think you'd be asleep, but I guess it _has_ been a long day. I came in and it was all quiet, so I thought you were probably in your room getting some shut-eye, so I made a milkshake." Max went on quickly, gesturing at Logan with the spatula.

Logan glanced down at his chest and legs, realizing for the first time that if it hadn't been for the sheet that had somehow wrapped itself around his waist, he would have been completely bare.

"Max, I'll be out in a minute," Logan yanked at the sheet trying to cover his legs. Max's head disappeared from the doorway. Logan felt his face blushing red. This wasn't the way he had envisioned the evening at all. Untangling the sheet, he reached for his pants, all thoughts of his recent dream slipping away quickly.

He slipped the pants over his feet and leaned back on the pillows to pull them up. Squinting at the ceiling, he noticed something that hadn't been there when he'd gone to bed. A bit of rope hung down from the ceiling caught in the trapdoor, which stood slightly ajar. Without thinking, he pulled the pillow out from under his head and held it up to his face. A faint whiff of cherries met his nose.

Logan smiled to himself and shifted to his chair. He pulled on a T-shirt and moved towards the door.

"Max," he called to the kitchen. "I had the most amazing dream. You'll never guess what happened in it."

"Really?" Max turned around to face Logan, her face coloring slightly and her voice turning shy.

"Maybe I can tell you about it over a milkshake." Logan said, taking the glass from Max with a mischievous grin.

I hope you enjoyed this, Mari. I think I managed to work in most of your requests. To everyone else, I know this update has been a long time coming and I appreciate your patience. Please, please review. We are a small band of M/L folks, but it's really great to hear from you all. I know the ending leaves much to the imagination, but I felt that much more than this strayed too far from their relationship at this point.

* for more on the Rat Trap, see my story by the same name.


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